We sailed to this
wonderfully remote Polynesian Island,
the appearance not unlike a smaller
version of Tahiti; steep forest covered
volcanic mountains with radical looking
peaks, surrounded by a barrier reef with
a shallow aqua blue lagoon.
A local man in a small dory came out to
greet us as we approached and to pilot
us into the anchorage. He invited us to
participate in a formal welcoming
ceremony (Savu Savu) with the chief and
elders of the village.
There was an unbelievable left breaking
on the outside reef and the crew was
frothing to get out there as it was
getting late in the afternoon. Firstly I
asked our new friend for permission to
surf (local customs require this) and if
it would be impolite if we were to go
for a surf before dark and then come in
and meet everyone. He agreed cheerfully.
Later in the village meeting hall we
were formally welcomed by one and all.
We presented a gift of Yangona and after
a formal ceremony and a sufficient
amount of kava we talked story with the
elders into the small hours of the
morning. |
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I mentioned to the chief through an
interpreter (the schoolteacher) that I
was a commercial diver by trade. After
much discussion on this point they asked
me if I would have a look for a 15hp
outboard that the chief from the
adjoining village had lost several
months earlier. There had been a large
effort to find it, as an outboard motor
was the most expensive and prized
possession of the chief. From what I
could gather the water was too deep for
breathhold diving and the underwater
visibility in the cordova of the volcano
where it was lost was poor. I agreed. |
The next morning a delegation of old men
arrived at the Trader to take me up on
my promise.
I took a weight and a buoy with a
100-foot searchline. Paul Paterson
agreed to be my backup diver. On arrival
at the location there was intense
discussion (none of which we could
understand) amongst the old blokes as to
exactly where the motor had leapt off
the back of the chief’s boat. With
everyone pointing at a different spot,
they finally sort of reach a consensus
and we dropped the buoy. Patto and I
reached the bottom at about 80 feet. We
could see only about 3 feet. I swam out
to the end of the search line and swam
around in a 100-foot radius circle
search. Patto meanwhile swam backwards
and forwards along the search line
effectively covering the inside of the
radius. This is the tried and only truly
effective underwater search method. We
were unsuccessful but I was confident
that the outboard motor was not where we
surveyed. You could see the
disappointment on the faces of the crowd
when we surfaced.
It was a pretty hard dive and Patto
impressed me. Over the next few days the
outboard wasn’t mentioned. Gary
Elkerton and Mick Campbell organised a
friendly game of touch football and the
villagers organised a little fundraiser
for the local rugby team to go to the
island championships.
Another Kava ceremony was held and
during the festivities the local priest
started having a friendly dig at me
about my diving ability. A thinly
disguised ploy to get us to have another
look. I rose to the balt and said the
reason we didn’t find the motor was
that they had put me in the wrong spot.
I told the priest that if they all put
their heads together and could agree
exactly where the motor went down I
would have another look.
Two days later another delegation came
to the boat. “Are you sure”? I
joked. No smiles, just nodding heads. |
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We threw the buoy down about 300 meters
away from the first location. Sure
enough after 10 minutes there it was,
covered in silt, with the transom of the
boat still bolted on. I spent about 10
minutes on the bottom removing the
transom and wiping a lot of the mud and
marine growth from it. By the time I was
finished you could read Yamaha on the
cowling and surprisingly enough it didn’t
look too bad considering how long it had
been down.
I tied the searchline to the motor and
passed the end up to Sum in the tin
boat. We got into the tin boat with
straight faces and everyone was looking
at me expectantly. Sum started pulling
on the line and as they could see he had
some weight on it, some of the assembled
pundits began to smile. When it broke
the surface there was a huge cheer and
we headed back to the Trader.
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Having gone this far I decided to see if
I could get it going. I gave it a good
hosing down with the deckhose, removed
the plugs and gingerly turned it over
backwards and forwards with a big socket
wrench. It started turning freely after
working it for about 10 minutes. I then
drowned it in WD40. We bolted it to the
back of the boys’ canoe and I sprayed
copious amounts of WD40 into the
carburetor and the cylinders as one of
the crew turned it over. Everyone was
looking at me as if I was a man
possessed as I pulled and pulled on the
starter cord. There were all sorts of
expert opinions being thrown around; the
main theme being that I was wasting my
time. |
When I was satisfied that the motor was
turning over freely and I had expelled
all the water, I put some new plugs in
and gave it a few pulls while squirting
WD40 into the carby. It kicked. After
the next couple of pulls the motor
caught and started to run with a huge
cloud of smoke coming out the exhaust. I
ran it for awhile at half throttle and
backed the throttle down and it sat
there idling smoothly. No one could
believe their eyes.
I handed the throttle over to the chief,
who put it into gear, and drove his boat
home with the outboard he never thought
he would ever see again.
That evening Horny went to the church to
take some shots of the choir and the
service. He reported that the sermon was
about how their prayers had been
answered and divine intervention had
made us decide to come to their island
and rescue their outboard.
Needless to say we will always be
welcome back. |
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